


you're all made of fire

by White_Crow



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Instability, Gen, Post-canon: Villian route, the author is not native speaker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-18 20:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17587724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Crow/pseuds/White_Crow
Summary: Bruce feels himself lost and guilty after that last time he seen John.After Alfred left.After Selina left.After Gordon was hurt.And he thinks that maybe... just maybe he can make up at least one of his failure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author is Russian.  
> So this text probably is full of stupid mistakes.  
> But it's better than try to write about Joker on Russian: it's pretty hard to imitate his manner of speech.

## Visit 1

...And there is loud _thunk!_ of door what was close.

  
And then John is all over Bruce: hugs him, presses himself into his chest, touches and pokes him in something what looked like strange attempt to figure out who it is in his chamber.

  
Like if he is blind.

  
— It's took you so long, Brucie! - he mutters under his breath while his hands makes their way all across Bruce's face: first his jaw, then his lips, then his nose... It is unnerving feeling: annoying, awkward and kinda pleasant at the same time. - I thought I would die without any sight of you! Have you any idea, how boring this place is? There are no games, no sun and, worse of all, there're no fun! Only Victor who keeps going on and on and on about his scars, and "do you sleep well, mister Doe? take your medicine, mister Doe! i'm worried about you, mister Doe, John"...

  
Bruce tries to pull out from him — with all gentleness he can manage — but it's already unnecessary.

  
John already draws back and now looks at him with puzzled, somehow wounded expression.

  
— Why did you came? - he frowns, when smiles, and Bruce doesn't know what is worse. - I mean, we are the best enemies and all this, I guess you have every right to go meet me sometimes, so we can play chess or chat or dance... Like last time! Really got me when! But somehow I haven't a tiny bit of faith in that you came here for dance or chat!

  
Bruce remembers doctor Leland's words: "He cares a lot about you, but I'm not sure it's good thing. Do you really think you can handle him if he would be angry, or depressing? And, what much more important, do you really think you want to handle it?".

  
And now he is not so sure.

  
He thought it is not such a bad idea. He thought he can make up for Jonh — can even find him inside that monster he became.

  
He thought it will lights his own loneliness and even helps him found himself in this darkness he drowns little by little ever since Alfred left and Gordon became an invalid.

  
He thought so many things — laying in his big hollow bedroom, watching night skies, hoping and afraid to see sight on them...

  
But now, after he spoke, and paid, and even begged.

  
Now he wonders: was this such a perfect idea? Or he just let his imagination brings him here, where nothing good left and nothing can be done?

  
Like with Harvy, like with Alfred, like with Selina, like with Gordon — like with everyone who just got hurt because of him?

  
John frowns again and now he looks grim and even sinister, like that last time. Bruce thinks about this room – it's smaller then smallest bathroom in the Manor! - and about distant between them.

  
Two steps? Even three steps seems unlikely, so may as good say it is two steps.

  
But real distant... something about three times to Moon and back.

  
He thinks it's funny. He thinks it's sad.

  
He thinks he should say something – something ordinary like “sorry” or “hello” or even “how are you?”, but bitterness took its grip on his throat and he can't push out even a single word.

  
John helps him. In his, very johnish, way.

  
— Ah, same old Brucie, - he sighs, steps close – two steps in one – and his lips nearly touches Bruce's ear.

  
— I think you came here to check on me. Isn't it funny, pal? When I was really in my darkest times, you just needed me to find Harley, but now... After our little pretty dance on bones of this city, you just go in and like “Hey, Joker, old bud, how's it been? Are you making new toy with tick-tack inside? Are you planing to make anyone else's knees go all burst? Are you up to a next dinner party?”.

  
His voice now quiet, with these strange purring notes what always was in there but came out only when Joker came in. Bruce feels his skin crawls but stands still.

  
There will be moment when John will be tired and silent. And when he can speak. Maybe.

  
— You came just to soothe this wretched head of yours. “How is my old buddy Joker? Maybe he makes his mind on something fishy?”.

  
His voice goes down and down – cruel mimicry of Batman's voice.

  
— “Maybe I go and check on him. Maybe I check on him and if I wouldn't find anything suspicious I leave him to rot in his cage forever and ever. Until thoughts will again crawl in my head and wound me and bite me...”.

  
And then he screams – so loud, Bruce feels his heart gives up its work for a moment:

  
— That how it was!

  
Jonh steps aside, then starts to race around – five steps left, five steps right, hands clutches around his chest.

  
— That how it was. Even now it have nothing to do with me! Just yours stupid little nightmares and yours stupid little suspicions, but nothing about me!

  
He looks completely insane at the moment and Bruce feel awkwardness and pity. Like always.

  
If not to mention what sometimes it was not only these but annoyance.

  
— John... - he tries, but John doesn't even listen it to an end. He snarls:

  
— It's Joker! Joker! Are you that dumb, Bruce? Can't remember name of the man who you created with your own hands?

  
And then he laughs – shrill, dark sound resonances inside chamber's walls, makes blood stop in its vanes and hairs stand up on back side of Bruce's neck.

  
Door opens and doctor Leland's worried face peers inside.

  
— I think it's time for you to go, - she says and Bruce can't help it but feel relived.

  
— Good bye, - he tells John and add – awkward, quiet. - I will come again soon.

  
Door almost closes when laugh stops and John says – almost himself, almost serious and sane:

  
— No, you will not.

  
And another wave hits them – shrill grim sound. Loud. Proud.

  
Creepy.

  
And sad.

 

***

 

— It went not so well, - says Bruce gloomy.

They sits in the doctor Leland's cabinet – small somber room where only bright sight are photos on walls: men and women laugh and wave and cheer. Bruce guesses they are all former patients.

Not like he can concentrate on this thought for long.

— I didn't say anything to him. Anything at all.

He wants to bury his face in his hands, to crouch down, to think about how stupidly silent he was.

But there is doctor Leland who need to be deal with. And in front of her he can do nothing of this sort. He never been able to show weakness even in front of Alfred, and Alfred was a family.

So he looks at her and tries to be “same old Bruce”, who always looks like nothing in this world can gets under his skin.

He does this pretty often these days. When Iman around. Or Tiffany. Or anyone in Wayne Enterpriser.

He became very skilled in that – when he thought it's impossible.

— And what did you want to say? - doctor Leland smiles at him and he thinks what it's a trace of profession. She looks like she will not judge anything and will hear everything with that gentle soft smile. It interests him does she look at her husband or children (if she has them, of course) like that. But just a little.

—We are not on a session, doctor.

— And I think it's a pity, mister Wayne. - she stops smiling. There is only polite blank expression on her face now. - At first I thought it was all just John's imagination after these few hours you spend in Arkham. But then you came to us today and now I think there are some kind of story. And maybe – just maybe, of course – it can explain how everything turn out like that.

She sighs and rubs her face with both hands. Gesture makes Bruce envious for a moment, so clearly it shows how exhausted doctor Leland is.

— I released the man who could take care of himself. Maybe he was emotionally unstable, maybe he had some anger issues, but I believed: he could manage in outside world. And now he came back to us and he's completely lost. And he thinks it's your fault somehow. So yes, I would gladly hear what you wanted to say him and what you didn't.

Bruce considers telling the truth. Something like “I wanted to say what I used him for what I believed was for greatest good. What I regret it now with all my heart. What he done terrible things and what I hate him for that. And what he can be good again someday. Can be man, not a furious laughing thing”.

But of course he can't say it like that.

Not to someone who isn't John.

And there are secrets and his identity, he can't forget about them.

So he asks – polite and emotionless, same old Bruce:

— Can I come another day and try again?

Doctor Leland looks at him like he jumped on table and started to dance – but only for a moment. Without second she takes control over her face.

— Let me be honest with you, - she saids and sighs again. - If there was anything I could do for John, I'd stop you, no matter how persuasive you would be. But I already know there are nothing. He just doesn't want to talk to me about anything other than you and how you betrayed him. And without his cooperation I can only lock him here and prevent him from hurt anyone including himself. And it's just not enough. So yes. You can come.

Bruce nods.

He feels something like quiet respect for this woman: she cares for John even despite his deeds.

But much stronger he feels horror and guilt.

He's in blame here. He created Joker with his own hands – just like John said.

And now he must deal with it.

It's a pity he hasn't any idea how will he do it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

## Visit 2

Door opened and closed one more time but now there is no John on Bruce and he feels sadness overwhelming him. Last time for one second he believed they managed to fix John up.

Not to normal, John never was normal even at the start. But to his good side  which can walk and talk and smile in almost sane way.  Which can disguise for an almost ordinary man.

Which isn't insane... at the first look at least.

Maybe that John would listens to Bruce and maybe even would understands him.

But he guess it was to good to be truth.

He moves quietly. John took  new  medication today, doctor Leland warned Bruce he can be asleep and it's look like it just the case. He lies on his bunk, kneels press into his chest, elbow shields his head. There are no blanket because it would be dangerous to give such a thing to mental damaged patient, and probably because of it John looks cold and small.

Bruce sits on the edge of the bunk next to him. It's good thing John all curled up because otherwise Bruce would sit on the floor. Guard offered him a stool but he refused. He doesn't want to change anything in John's room without permission...

And he doesn't want to give John anything that can be used to attack.

— I'm sorry, - he whispers an it feel strangely  satisfying – finally talk, even if John can't hear him. Maybe it's exactly because John can't hear and wouldn't say anything twisted and cruel. - I was wrong in the very beginning to lie to you.

He thinks about this part and feels overwhelming sadness once again. Then all was so simple in it's own ugly way. It was Gothem – or man who was nothing to Bruce. Man with obvious crush for him and mental problems. With obvious  _thing_ for violent. 

He was pitiful and sad, but Bruce had much more important tasks on hands than one sad pitiful freak. So he thought – when he thought about John at all – what he somehow explain all of this. Or what John will grow up from him or step this all over and go forward.

And then all his so important, so meaningful tasks went to nothing and he was left with John and John only.

— Batman's code hasn't rule about lying but my  conscience  has. - Bruce continues. He looks at John pale neck under pale hospital robe, at his green hair and feels pity and hatred tumbles in his guts. He wants to place his hand on these hair – like you do then you want to show someone your care and attention. And he wants break this thin neck – just one quick move receives for it. But do neither. - And one time I broke it – this happened. Explosions happened. People's death happened. Part of Gotham is in ruins now and all because of one broken rule.

Maybe if he really talked with John on funeral all that wouldn't happen. If he remembered and said something about how doctor Leland was missing him, or tell that his new friends are bad people and he shouldn't mess with them. If he offered his help. If he cared about John – just a little.

But he was so busy he forgot about him almost immediately. Forgot about his promise because gave it just to keep John quiet.

He had important work to do and traces to follow...

And now he has John, head ache and questions in his head – they keep coming and demand answers about his actions, about his feelings, about infinity “if” and “would be”.

Would it be better if he showed John more interest?

Would it be better if he talked with John more?

Would it be better if he dragged John to Arkham himself first time they meet in outside world?

It's like hell in his own head. Unstoppable, unmerciful.

— I tried to be good friend, - he says and remembers: John asks for advice, John learns to use batrang, John laughs and pulls him into photo. It's uncomfortable memories because you never ever can feel comfortable around John but they also alive and clear. - Good lying pretending friend. But I was honest when I had chance to and sometimes it was fun, I admit it. Admit now and admitted then. And you stub me for it with a knife!

He covers his mouth with his hand – last words cam out too loud, but he just can't stop now:

— And it was fun too. Your's one and only really funny joke.

He guesses it just too much pressure on his chest these days. Everything hurts and Gothem needs him almost every minute, and they need to rebuild the hospital and to organize something temporal instead and to hire new employers and to clear that mess in their documents, and there are Tiffany, and Avesta, and he just doesn't know where Alfred is and can't even tell himself he's totally fine...

He just need rest but he can't get it. So he sits in John's chamber with his elbows on his knees and laughs mutely at one and only funny joke of the Joker.

And then John rolls over his back and looks at Bruce with strange glassy eyes. Not eyes of a man who was asleep just moment ago but eyes of someone who see faraway places instead of real world.

But Bruce feels ashamed anyway. There are nothing to laugh at, and he doesn't like thought of anybody see him like this. Especially John.

— I always suspect you have no sense of humor. - says John slowly. His voice blank and dull, there is not an awe but clearly ghost of it. - But take this long to understand one small joke...

He chuckles and touches Bruce's side with cold fingers – it's not difficult now when they are so close.

Too close for Bruce's comfort.

— Do you mind to show me, Bruce? Is there scar? Is it beautiful?

There is exactly scar, long and white, but Bruce thinks of it anything but beautiful. He stands up – away from John's misty eyes, away from his hand, away from his own little nervous breakdown and away from thought of John heard him.

— How do you feel? - he asks and John winces:

— Like I'm drowning in a really big bowl of cold milk. Or in a really featherly pillow.

He smiles – but just a little like his lips don't work properly.

— You should try these little happy pills sometime. Maybe then you wouldn't need justice to cover your mistakes and weaknesses.

Bruce frowns – he doesn't like this theme, he so tired of it – but John doesn't let him speak:

— You should go, - he says and covers his eyes with hand. - There will be times for games but not now. Now I'm too messed up. I want to dream about something nice and pretty not to listen to you excuses again. I heard them before, remember? I'm not deaf and I can understand English. Even when I'm one step from Neverland...

It looks like John made his mind and don't want to be rejected, but Bruce just doesn't want to go. Today he worked his seclude up and in this evening nothing waits for him except of cold lazania and his thoughts.

Will John's reaction be explosion like always? Or pills will take care of it?

— Will you mind if I'll sit here but will not say anything?

John take his hand off and looks at Bruce. Then sighs.

— Always liked this stubborness of yours... Some things just don't change. But no more weepings, key, buddy?

Bruce nods and John turns his back to him. Again – knees to chest, elbow over head...

Bruce sits on edge of the bunk and doesn't move next half of hour. Or maybe next eternity.  
  


 

Doctor Leland offers him coffee and he accept her offer gladly.

He feels weird – like he was asleep and now wake. Or like he was with John in his Neverland.

Is that what they call “meditation”? When you sits and looks at something – at their photo on John's bed table in his case – and don't think about anything? And after you wake up?

— How does it go today? - asks doctor Leland and Bruce answers – after sip of coffee and moment to collect his thoughts:

— Better, I think. It wasn't like he want listen to me, but I have my word and he didn't try to shut me up. Even allow me to be there for some time. For us it's clearly a success.

Doctor Leland sighs:

— It's because of new medication, mister Wayne. We are trying new tranquilizes today and this is their effect. I doubt he wants – or can – stand up without falling on the floor, so there are nothing we can be glad about. Do you know how many men it took to make him shallow his pills?

Bruce shakes his head and doctor Leland continues:

— Four. And one has three days of vacations now because he needs to fix his hand. John bit him, you see.

Bruce sees the picture in his head – John laughs, John slides under and jumps up, John bites and his lips become very red end very wide – and flinches.

— You didn't have problems of this sort with him before?

— Sometimes, but not as badly as now. Before it was rare and because of depression. He really wanted to be cure. And now he doesn't believe in our cures anymore and doesn't want them.

  
  


Before Bruce leaves – coffee ended and skies are black now – doctor Leland gives him a thin book in paper cover.

— In there you will find a few hints about conversation with peoples like John, - she tells him. - You will need it, mister Wayne, if you want to visit us again.

Bruce doesn't sure “want” is a word bur he thanks her anyway.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be like ten or so visits.  
> Maybe it will be even slash...  
> But I don't think there will be less mistakes.


End file.
